


Lay on Hands (5+1)

by Mado



Category: The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 08:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12384498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mado/pseuds/Mado
Summary: For the Dare Devil Kink Meme: Defenders Prompt: "Danny can heal with the Iron fist and it's a shame to not see that ability used more often, especially because he has friends who get their asses kicked regularly. So, five times Danny healed one of the Defenders or closest allies, and one time they took care of him."WIP, multiple pairings if you squint.





	1. Luke

“Okay-- Okay i'm here, what--?” Claire isn't prepared for the amount of blood that greets here when she steps into Matt's office, and she barely manages to keep hold of her kit as Jessica wraps a hand around her wrist to tug her in (hot and slippery, god they're all a mess.)

“Jesus guys!” She doesn't even have time to take stock of them all before zeroing in on Luke, curled up on the floor, clutching his chest, his ruined shirt soaked to the point where the fabric seems almost black.

She almost starts to ask how, before a violent cough racks through him and he spits out a mouthful of bright red. Matt's settled into a crouch beside him, mask off, his battered face scrunched in a look of deep concentration.

“Fix him.” Jessica's demand comes out as more of a desperate rasp, and Claire is suddenly overwhelmed by the acrid scent of smoke and burned fabric... and flesh.

“Matt?” She drops to her knees beside him, pushing at Luke until Matt moves to help her roll him to his back, he goes with a groan, eyes rolling back into his head.

“There was a bomb, Luke took the brunt of the explosion-- but the concussion of the blast must have messed up his insides, his lungs--” Matt's hand covers hers, leading her to touch the sticky but otherwise unmarred flesh over his chest, then down over his stomach. “Here too.” She almost laughs, humorlessly, who needs an x-ray when you have Matt Murdock?

“Luke, can you hear me?” She touches his cheek and his eyes crack open to squint at her, even smiles.

“Hey babe.”

“Hey yourself... How bad is it?” She flips open her medical kit, pushing through the contents, coming up with nothing that can help.

“Had worse heartburn.” He coughs again, and Matt helps him turn so he doesn't end up choking on his own blood.

“Claire!” Jessica snaps, voice pitching. She's worried, Claire knows, but it isn't helping.

“Where's Danny?”

“Danny's fine-- .”

Claire turns her head. “That's great, but I need him here.”

“He's on his way back, I sent him for water and towels.” Matt's at least keeping his calm, though part of it might be because he looks like he's barely keeping himself conscious. He lifts his chin. “He's just down the hall now.”

“Danny!” She barely gets his name out before the door flies open again, and under other circumstances it would almost be comical the way he stumbles in, singed hair sticking every-which way, face smudged dark with soot, like some mad-scientist whose experiment had backfired.

“I need you here, now.”

He drops the bags he's holding, a bottle of water bouncing out to roll across the floor. He joins her in an instant, landing on his knees beside her.

“He's bleeding internally, even if I had the supplies to operate, we all know I can't get through his skin.” Claire keeps her cool despite the rising panic in her chest. She takes Danny's hands, like Matt had done to hers, laying one over Luke's chest and the other his side.

Jessica scoffs. “What's he supposed to do? Fist him better?” Though she's silenced by a frown from Matt, and he rises to join her, resting a hand on her shoulder. It keeps her still, at least, though Claire can feel the heat of her stare from behind her.

Danny shakes his head. “I don't know if I can, I've never done this-- not like this.” His voice falters from uncertainty and she hushes him. Beneath their hands Luke arches and shakes with another violent cough, and Danny does his best to hold him down. “Okay man, I got you.”

“Danny.” Claire says again, sharper. “I know you can do this, just like before, you have to focus. Luke needs you.”

He licks his lips and nods, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath. Then another, the golden glow of his chi burning up from his fingertips, spreading up to his wrist until every bone and vein seems to illuminate beneath his skin. The breath he releases comes with a shudder as that light travels, sinking into Luke's own skin and Claire can't help but marvel, watching as it travels through him, brilliant and pulsing until Luke's own bones seem to burn with it, his heart beating bright within his chest.

“Jesus--” Jessica gasps, moving around to sink to her knees on the other side of them, in perfect time too because Danny finally murmurs a soft “Okay... I feel it.” and Luke's left arching up with a choked sound, leaving Jessica to curse as she moves to hold him down.

“It's okay baby, just relax.” Claire pulls his head in her lap, at the very least she can keep him from cracking it against the floor, which, honestly is more dangerous for the floor (and her lap in retrospect.) Luke sinks back down, sweat beading on his forehead and eyes rolling back again.

Danny's hand slips down Luke's abdomen, light trailing with it, throbbing brighter in time with his pulse-- he sets his jaw, breath coming out harshly between his teeth. It's a long, silent minute before Luke sags completely and the light fades, leaving Danny to sit back on his heels.

No one says anything, until finally Matt lets out an audible breath. “Yeah, he's good.”

But he can't quite step up in time to stop Jessica as she rises up on her knees. “You asshole, you could have done this the entire time?”

“Jess--”

“No! He could have died and magic fingers here was holding out--” She doesn't shove Danny hard but he topples back right as Matt moves to catch him, and the kid's unconscious before Matt can even lower him the rest of the way to the floor.

“Shit--” Jessica covers her mouth and scrambles over to check on him, he's pale and sweaty but breathing fine.

“What the hell was that?” There's less anger when she turns to Claire, who's still cradling Luke's head in her lap, stroking his brow and temples.

“The immortal Iron Fist, champion of K'un-Lun.” She laughs, relieved.

“You knew he could do that?”

“I hoped he could do that.” Claire corrects.

Jessica just shakes her head, shoulders sagging in defeat. “What is my life even...”

No one really needs Matt to chime in with the comment of “A weird one.” But he does anyway.


	2. Matt

Matt wakes up with a splitting headache. It isn't a new experience; the dull throbbing behind his eyes that almost makes him grateful that his world is dark.

His mouth tastes like copper and bile and he's keenly aware of how dry and swollen his tongue feels behind his teeth. Swallowing isn't that much fun either, leaving him to exhale a sigh from his nose in favor of a unhappy groan.

“Hey.” the voice doesn't startle him, though he's still trying to absorb his own surroundings before fully registering that there's another person in the room with him. The bed beneath him sinks a little with a sudden weight beside him, slow enough not to jar him—which he's grateful for.

“Hi.” He croaks out, turning his head enough for the rest of his senses to make out that it's Danny settling in bed with him, the familiar scent of tea-tree shampoo and faint citrus making his nose itch, shortly enough after a shower that it hasn't had time to really fade.

“How are you feeling?” At least Danny knows to speak softly, the sound still makes Matt's head throb and he moves to drape his arm across his eyes, hoping the pressure will help.

“The jury's still out on that one.” He chuckles at his own joke and then regrets it immediately, sharp pain shooting down his spine, leaving his teeth clacking together with how hard he clenches them.

“Ow. What happened?” For a moment he's worried that the only thing that doesn't seem to hurt are his legs, but he feels the sheets shift when he wiggles his toes. Still in one piece, thank goodness.

“You uh, jump-kicked that big ninja guy and he threw you out a window.” Matt has to smile at his cheerful tone, and at the entire situation really-- if he's honest with himself, he's probably been through worse.

“Did I land in the garbage bin?”

“Oh, no, on the roof of some lady's car. It's okay, I told her I’d replaced it.”

Matt laughs again, then groans, he really needs to stop doing that. “Of course you did.”

“Can I help?” Danny's fingers are warm against his wrist and Matt lowers his arm, trying to give him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He wonders what the kid is even doing here, if he brought Matt home and patched him up himself or if he's just on watch to make sure he hadn’t finally knocked his marbles out for good.

“I could use some aspirin.” He feels Danny shift some of the bedding, and he moves to stiffly sit up, letting the younger man help stuff another pillow behind his back. It feels a little better like this, easing the pressure that is no doubt blood in his sinuses.

“No, I mean, I think I can help a little more than that.”

It takes Matt a minute to realize what he means before he responds with a soft “ah. Magic fingers?”

Danny barks out a laugh. “We're not calling it that.”

“Fist of healing?”

“Maaaatt.”

“Okay, we'll all put our suggestions in a hat and decide from there.”

“I'm taking back my offer.”

“No, no, sorry. Heal away, Dr. Fist.”

“Are you always like this, or is that the concussion?”

“Mmm.” Matt's hum turns into a soft sound of surprise as Danny settles astride his thighs, he keeps his weight to himself, balanced on his knees, but Matt can still feel the heat radiating off of him. It makes the back of his neck burn a little, and he quickly licks his lips.

“Mr. Rand these are hardly professional bedside manners.” He reaches to rest his hand on Danny's thigh feeling out the worn denim down to where it frays into a hole at the knee, a passing wonder if he bought them that way or if time had just been rough on them-- the smoother texture of healed nicks and scars from years of skinned and banged up knees answers his question immediately.

“This may come as a shock to you, Mr. Murdock, but this actually requires some concentration.”

Matt tries not to wince as Danny's fingers brush his temples, gentle as he is, and he's aware now that the tight feeling above his brow are actually stitches that he can only hope is Claire's work, because while the rest of them are all good people, he wouldn't trust a single one with a needle.

“Ready?”

He closes his eyes, surprisingly anxious, and nods once.

Danny's chi is-- strange. He knows he must experience it in a different way than the others, after all he can't exactly see how it must glow. He can feel it though, taste it the air like the sharpness of ozone after a lightning storm. It raises the small hairs on the back of his neck, leaves goosebumps tightening his skin.

Part of him expects it to hurt a little, but it doesn't, in fact it's a little like the soothing sensation of having warm water poured across his skin, heat sinking into him and he nearly sighs-- until there's a sudden brilliance behind his eyelids, too bright, like glancing at the sun. Except Matt can hardly remember anything but darkness and fire. He jerks back with a grunt and Danny does the same, leaving Matt rubbing at his eyes, mourning the light as it fades back into nothing.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing, it was just weird for a second there.” Matt takes a moment to calm the hammering of his heart, sinking back against the headboard.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Matt starts to say no, he wants that light back, if only for a moment, but he realizes that the pain in his head and neck have subsided, no more than a dull, tolerable ache.

“I'm good, wow, yeah, real good.” He gives Danny's leg a reassuring pat, and then a 'get off' nudge, if a friendly one. “That was kinda amazing actually. Do you do birthday parties?”

Danny rolls to flop onto the empty space beside him with another snort of laughter. “Ugh, Matt!”

This time, when Matt laughs along, it doesn't hurt. “Thank you.” And he thinks, just for a second, when he turns his gaze Danny's way, there's just a little bit of light.


	3. Jessica

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (my secret ot3)

“Mmm.” Jessica's wakes with a deep sigh, consciousness filtering in slowly, and god she can't remember the last time she's felt this good. Warm and drowsy, it's the first time in forever she's woken with out the dull discomfort of last night's hangover pounding in her head and a stiffness in her muscles.

“Am I dead?” There's a solid chest beneath her cheek and she knows it immediately, along with the warm scent of Luke's cologne and the steady thrum of his heart. She opens her eyes to the sun streaming in through the window over her bed, then closes them again as she feels more than hears Luke's rumbling chuckle.

“No.”

“Did I get laid?” She can be hopeful right? Though she'd definitely know if they'd slept together, there's no way she'd be feeling this good. Good, but not without some sort of tell-tale ache of a romp in the sheets with Luke Cage would leave.

Luke laughs again, and she lets the warm sound roll through her.

“Afraid not.”

“Oh, well.” She should probably be worried about how she'd ended up like this, but with as often as her nights end with at bottom of a Jack Daniels bottle, she's no stranger to blacking out. Right now she doesn't really care, as long as she can stay like this just a little longer, cuddled against Luke's chest, nearly forgetting how unhappy she's supposed to be.

“Are we going to sleep all day?” Luke's finally breaks the silence after some time and she groans out a protest, burying her face against his shirt with a muffled 'yes' before exhaling another sigh.

“Alright.” Fine. Jessica stretches languidly and rolls over-- and nearly ends up with a mouthful of messy blond hair.

“Eeesh!” She jerks back, bumping into Luke's unmovable mass. “Uh, no.”

Danny Rand is asleep beside her, undisturbed by her surprised backpedaling, curled around one of her pillows like some overgrown kid with a teddy bear.

“Okay what sort of crazy night did I miss?”

Luke gives her arm a squeeze and sits up with a yawn and a powerful stretch of his own.

“Besides a pleasant night at the bar before some punks decided to shoot the place up, not much.”

Jessica squints before it comes rushing back, well, more or less. “Holy shit!” her hands fly to her chest, feeling for the ghost of an injury that isn't there. Her shirt's warm and clean, but not the one she went out in last night.

“What--?” She looks to Luke, then back down to Danny.

“Don't tell me I got magic-fingered.”

“You got magic-fingered.” Luke wraps an arm around her shoulders and she sinks back against him, still watching Danny, clearly dead to the world.

“He probably saved your life.” Luke adds quietly and she scoffs, but allows for the warm feeling that swells in her chest. Okay, it's fondness, she'll admit to it-- not out-loud, but to herself at least. Besides, he's kinda sweet when he's asleep and you know, not talking.

“Guess that explains why I feel so-- I don't know...” She makes a helpless gesture.

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Luke agrees with a chuckle, reaching past her to ruffle Danny's hair, the kid stirs a little, but doesn't wake.

She sighs again and reaches down to pull the blanket further up over him.

“I guess getting magic-fingered is better than getting iron fisted.” She has to make the joke, ok? Besides, it makes Luke laugh.

“I'm telling him he gave you the best orgasm of your life.”

Jessica hits him with a pillow. “Don't you dare!”

“Come on, you're practically glowing.”

“Hey, he magic fingered you first. Jerkhole.”

Luke chortles again, tugging the pillow away before she can hit him with it again.

Then, behind them, Danny's voice rumbles out low and groggy. “Are we really calling it that?”

Jessica can only laugh.


	4. Frank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I love writing Frank, who knew?

“It's infected.”

“It's fine.”

“Frank, the wound is infected, it's rotting, I can smell it.”

“No one fucking asked you, Red, why are you out here anyway? Just to be thorn in my side?” Frank lowers his rifle, there hasn't been so much as a mouse stirring in the old warehouse across the street and his back and chest ache from holding position for so long.

He's beginning to think his intel was wrong and the place is empty. He knows for a fact that the Devil knows whether it is or not, but his pride won't let him ask. And horn-head here is probably enough of a bastard to sit and let him watch an empty warehouse.

“This is my city, I like to keep tabs of what's going on in it.”

Frank scowls at him, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist. It's a cool night but his t-shirt is soaked, heat creeping uncomfortably beneath his skin.

“You're running a fever.”

“What? Are you a doctor now too? I hope you're better at that then the lawyer gig.” He rolls his shoulders and uses his teeth to twist open the cap of water bottle he pulled from his duffel, not about to take both hands off his rifle with Murdock standing so close. Close enough to smell him anyway, fucking weirdo.

“No, but you need one.” Clearly Matt's unperturbed by Frank's temper tonight, his tone low and even, speaking to him like he's some temperamental child.

“You're gonna need one if you don't fuck off. I'm not in the mood for your pity party.” He chugs his water and rises to a knee, not that he really suspects Murdock's going to back off with a little menacing, but he can try. Maybe Frank will get lucky and he'll hear some damsel that needs saving. He hates that he can't just shoot the guy.

Well he can. But it's something he knows he'd regret. Probably.

Frank doesn't even hear the feet on the roof behind him until a voice speaks out a cheerful “Hello.”

He turns too fast and the world just keeps on spinning for a second as he raises his rifle, thankful for a moment that he's still on one knee or else he would definitely be down on both. “Great, another asshole in a mask. Who the fuck are you?” Some scrawny ass ninja in a tracksuit and a yellow bandana, he's lucky Frank didn't blow his head off for sneaking up on him like that.

Beside him, the Devil inclines his head, and tracksuit ninja smiles like some sort of idiot. “Hey Ma--”

Murdock clears his throat and the guy catches himself “Uh Daredevil-- who's your scary friend here?”

Frank looks between him, are they fucking kidding him right now?

“I asked you first.” Frank can probably get away with shooting this one, right? “And we're not friends.” He says at the same time as Red introduces him with “This is Frank Castle.”

Frank moves to stand and bandana peers up at him with a look of surprise. “Woah, this guy's the Punisher?”

He exhales a long, suffering sound, covering his eyes before sliding his hand down his face.

“Sorry, I'm the Iron Fist.” Is this jackass really offering him his hand right now? Frank just stares down at it, then back up at the guy. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

“I uh...yeah? Hey man you don't look too hot.” He still has his hand out and Frank bats it away, backing up, only to stop when he feels Murdock's palm level against his back. It makes him bristle but he doesn't move away.

“Who the hell is this kid, Red? You recruiting now?” God he's dizzy. He needs to get off this roof and away from these idiots.

“He has shrapnel in his chest, and an infection. He's running a high fever because of it.”

“Oh so he's not really this much of a jerk, he just doesn't feel good?”

“Are you two assholes really talking around me?”

“No, he's always this much of a jerk.”

Frank throws his arms up, turning to shoulder his rifle and bend down to snatch up his duffle bag, except this time the world doesn't stop spinning when he does and his knees hit the concrete.

He doesn't feel Red catch him, but when he wakes up sometime later he recalls that something stopped him from busting his face open when the ground came rushing up to meet him.

  
  
  


He'd also hates how familiar of a sensation it is to wake up tied to a chair, shirtless and sweating, with a splitting headache and--

“Jesus fuck!”

“He's awake.”

“Yes Danny, I can hear that.”

Pain shoots through his chest again and he kicks at the floor, the chair rocking back as his boot heels dig in. An arm around his neck stops him from teetering too far and all four legs tap back the ground again. “Hey, calm down. It's okay.”

He cracks open his eyes to see Murdock sitting in a chair across from him, gloves off and fingers wet with blood.

“Frank please, I'm a blind man with a scalpel, you might want to try and keep still.”

He grits his teeth and sets his jaw, breathing sharply from his nose in favor of protesting. The pain is excruciating, and Frank makes a low sound the moment the blade touches his chest again. Murdock was right about the infection, he can smell it now that the wound is laid open again. Matt can clearly smell it too because even he looks a little green around the gills, holding his breath each time he leans in to remove another small piece of embedded shrapnel.

“Nnn god you're killing me, Red.” Frank has stood up to torture before, worse than this no doubt, but he's exhausted and delirious, it isn't worth trying to hide how much it hurts.

Matt leans away, turning his head to exhale. “Danny, can you?”

“Yeah, hang on.” The arm around his neck loosens and he can feel fingers prodding lightly at the back of his neck and across his shoulders until they dig in hard in-- Frank feels his muscles go lax, and everything gets blurry around the edges, the pain in his chest dulling to nearly tolerable as his head rolls back.

“Okay.” The kid's voice sounds far away, even if he knows he's right next to his ear. At least this time he doesn't fall when he blacks out.

 

“Welcome back.” Frank comes to on a rickety old couch that he slowly recognizes as his own, or at least one in the safe-house he was currently occupying. His chest burns as he sits up, leveling a (wasted) death glare at the Devil where he's perched like some sort of ridiculous gargoyle on the couch arm by his feet.

“Did that kid just Mr.Spock me?” He's still light headed and nauseous, but takes the time to look around, just to make sure they didn't mess with any of his shit. He stops to stare, because Tracksuit's sitting on the floor with his big brown pitbull's head in his lap, chugging from a carton of orange juice that's clearly from his fridge.

“Max you traitor.” He can't even be mad. He's too damn tired to be mad.

How'd they even find this place? Right, Red's a weirdo and probably sniffed it out.

“One more thing and we'll be out of your hair, Frank.” Murdock sounds so damn smug, he hates him.

The kid starts to get up and Frank straightens wearily as he approaches with his hands up like he thinks he's some sort of damn frightened animal. It deepens his frown. “What?”

“I just want to help get the rest of the infection out so you can heal, but I wanted to to get your consent first.”

Frank barks out a surprised laugh. “My consent? You two might have asked for that before you tied me to a damn chair.”

Matt clicks his tongue, the leather of his suit creaking ominously as he shifts, and for a second Frank's worried he's going to spring on him. Or maybe he just wants to make sure he knows that he easily can.

“Sorry, he was afraid you were going to fight us.” The brat's still making a placating gesture and Frank rolls his eyes, his head falling back against the couch before grunting out a “He's damn right.” but he's too exhausted to argue further.

“Do what you want if it means you're leaving.” And he can start looking for another safe-house.

The kid's standing over him suddenly and the hair on the back of Frank's neck raise because he didn't sense him move, his spine going rigid as he sits up, sending a wave of nausea and pain rolling through him. “Damn ninjas...”

At least tracksuit has enough sense to look guilty as he kneels in the empty space beside him, and either Frank doesn't realize how cold he is from blood loss or the kid radiates heat like a damn furnace because it's a weird relief when he levels his palms against his chest.

He can't even muster up a confused protest to ask what the fuck he's even doing before that heat spreads through him like morphine in his veins, causing his jaw to go slack and head to fall back again. Even when there's a sudden sharp pull in his chest, he does little more than grunt, the dull sense of euphoria over-riding the pain.

“You're getting better at that.” Red's voice seems distant, soft and praising in a way that Frank's never heard before. It's nice, he thinks, then scowls at the thought, his eyes fluttering closed despite his best efforts to keep them open.

“Thanks, I think I've got it down.”

Frank wants to ask again what exactly he's doing, but everything goes soft and gray around the edges, leaving him to puff out a sigh. He can't tell if it feels good, or if it's the complete absence of pain after so long that has him sighing out, but he'll take what he can get--

“Frank?” Murdock's voice sounds like it's underwater, floating away and...

 

“Fuck!” Frank jerks awake, alone in his dark living space, his fingers wet with dog slobber where Max has been licking. The dog wiggles up into his lap excitedly once he realizes his owner is up and will probably take him outside.

He drags a hand down over his face again, exhaling through his nose as he says it again.

“Damn ninjas.”


	5. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so maybe a little one-sided puppy crush going on in this one...

“I think it's broken.” Peter wants to bring himself to care, he really does, but he's way too distracted with the way the Iron Fist is cradling him against his chest as he carries him over the rooftop, it's easy to ignore the pain when his friend's shoulders are flexing under his hands and his jaw sets in a sharp line just inches away and  _ oh my god spidy, think unsexy thoughts! _

“It's probably just sprained, let me take a look.” Danny is careful as he sets him down on the raised lip of the ledge, kneeling in front of him to pull the boot of his costume off, and Peter's more than grateful for the mask because he's pretty sure he's as bright red as the fabric.

Danny's fingers prod gently and Peter draws in a soft hiss of breath, but he's probably right, nothing feels particularly broken, it just aches, dulled only by the warmth of his friend's hand sliding over the swelling joint.

“Aunt May's gonna kill me, I was supposed to tour the Empire State campus tomorrow.”

Danny peers up at him with a sympathetic look and a smile that leaves Peter's heart doing a weird flip. Ugh, why does this guy do this to him? Stupid teenage hormones. Maybe it's just Hero envy, because Iron Fist is so cool and stuff.

“Lets get some ice on it first, and then I'll see what I can do to help.”

Peter could probably manage to swing home, but Danny just scoops him up again, he knows that the guy doesn't have super strength or anything, yet he makes it seem so damn effortless, like Peter's small and fragile.

He doesn't hate it.

The trip home takes longer than usual but Danny carries him the entire way. Aunt May is at work and the house is quiet, or quiet enough that Peter can't help but fill the silence with nervous chatter, commenting on the day's events and apologizing for everything he can think of; the neighbors barking dog, the clutter on the counters, the fact that he's apologizing too much.

Danny lowers him down on the couch and stops him with a smile, reaching to drag back his mask to reveal sweaty tousled hair and a too bright gaze. Brows raised questioningly because Peter's just staring at him rather than following his example and removing his own. It isn't quite a stare-off before he's stuttering out an “Oh!” while pulling for the fabric, dragging in a breath of fresh air,  the sweat already cooling on his skin.

“I think there's an ice pack in the freezer, maybe.” Or like _ five _ , hidden somewhere behind the chunky-monkey and the frozen vegetables. Peas work equally well he's discovered, all those movies weren't wrong.

Danny moves away and Peter's fingers twitch, resisting the urge to reach out for him like he's suddenly worried the guy's just going to disappear once he's out of sight, he feels instantly silly for and ends up swatting the air instead as he could wave away the thought. It isn't that weird, right? It's probably the lingering rush of adrenaline swimming around in his head. Which is why he feels a little less embarrassed for the sigh of relief when the blond returns with a gel cold pack wrapped in one of his aunt’s tea-towels.

“I don't usually do stupid stuff like that, you know... falling off buildings. Most of the time I'm really good at this superhero thing.” He looks away to avoid Danny's grin, tucking his hands between his knees and willing his foot not to tap. His good one anyway, already keenly aware of how painful the jitters are with a injured ankle.

“I think I'm the last person allowed to scold you on being reckless.” Danny settles on the couch beside him, patting his lap and holding the ice pack up out of the way. Peter stares at him for a confused too-long moment before breathing out an “Oh!” accepting the invitation to swing his legs up and rest the battered one across his friend's knees.

Peter clears his throat, nose scrunching as Danny presses the pack against the sore joint, hyper aware of the contrasting sensation of hot and cold between the ice and Danny's fingers cradling his calf. “Thanks for that. I mean, I hear it a lot, you know? That this stuff's too dangerous, like i'm a kid who doesn't know what they're doing. And not like, a guy with cool super powers or something.”

“Do you?” Danny inclines his head, and Peter blinks, feeling the heat of defensiveness rise before he can even process the question.

“Do I what?”

“Know what you're doing?”

Peter's expression sours and he opens his mouth before Danny can amend with a soft laugh. “Because I don't think I do half the time, so a little spider wisdom would be nice.”

“Like... seriously? You're a total badass. Like you and Luke and Daredevil and...and...”

“Jessica?” Danny offers.

“Miss Jones, yeah! Like you guys totally swoop in and bad guys are all 'oh shit' and you save the day like  _ bam! _ ” He throws a few fake punches and Danny laughs, grip tightening just enough to keep his leg steady.

“We're no Avengers.”

“Yeah but that's cool too, you know? Like people don't walk down the street feeling safe because they think that Captain America or Thor's gonna come save them if they get mugged. It's because guys like DD or Luke Cage or--”

“Spider-man?”

Peter scratches at his forehead with a sheepish grin. “Well... yeah.”

“Yeah.” Danny agrees, shifting the ice pack a little so the cold spreads without his ankle going completely numb. Peter tries to wiggle his toes, sucking in a breath before he thinks to bite his tongue and tough it out. If he’s lucky he might be able to walk on it by tomorrow, thank you super-spider-healing powers.

“How's it feel?”

Peter thinks about lying and telling him it's better, but then Danny might stop what he's doing and he can't help but selfishly enjoy his friend's attention. Maybe just a few more minutes?

“It's um...pretty cold now.” Well that was obvious.

“Understandably.” He sets the pack aside, smoothing over his fibula with his thumb. It's an innocent gesture that has 100 percent of Peter's attention. “Let me try something?”

His mouth's a little dry and he nods mutely before rambling out with a “Yep, absolutely, whatever you want.”

Danny sits up a little straighter, and Peter watches intently as he closes his eyes with a soft exhale, curling his fingers over the top of his foot. Heat builds under his palm, subtle at first, followed by a tell-tale glow that has the younger man nearly jumping. “Woah, hey!” He's seen the Iron Fist summon his chi before, usually it was followed by something big exploding or someone getting knocked to the moon.

“It's okay.” The hand on his calf keeps him from squirming too much, first out of concern, then because holy shit that feels super weird. Like good weird though, like tingly-good, and Peter only realizes he's narrating the sensation out loud when Danny cracks open an eye to give him an amused look.

It lasts for all of a minute before the glow fades and Peter whispers out a “So cool.”

“Better?”

He doesn't hesitate to turn his foot, rotating his ankle this way and that, and while there's still a residual ache, it feels a hundred times better. Peter hops up with a nudge from Danny, moving to cross the living room with a catwalk strut and turn before trotting back.

“Way better! That was awesome, I didn't know you could do that.”

“I'm still figuring it out. I'm no Claire--”

“But better than a band-aid.” Peter flops back down beside him, feeling inexplicably light headed and giddy, maybe it was a side effect.

“Yeah? I like that. The immortal Iron Fist: better than a band-aid.”


End file.
